by Dave Lund
Groom Lake, NV
“This is where Jason said it would be.”
“Maybe Jason was wrong, honey.”
“I don’t know, Mom, maybe, but maybe we aren’t looking at quite the right place.”
Jessie listened to Sarah and Erin but stood in the hallway with the door to a janitor’s closet standing open. The storage closet had the usual janitorial supplies one would expect, except that it seemed larger than it should be. Stepping past the shelves, she saw why.
“Erin, Sarah, in here.”
Past the shelves was a large metal door painted in battleship gray. The little panel on the wall next to it contained a keypad and an RF reader. None of them knew what the numeric code could be, but the door clicked open with the card that Jake had given them.
“This place is spooky.”
“After all we’ve seen and done, Jessie now decides that a secret door in a secret facility at a secret base is what makes it spooky,” Sarah quipped with a smirk. Erin laughed.
“You know what? Fuck you both! Why don’t one of you lead the way inside.” Jessie stood aside and held her arm out like she was holding open the door to a restaurant. Erin stepped into the hallway, followed by Sarah and Jessie. The door closed behind them with a hiss and a heavy thud.
Erin turned around to look back at the door, “OK, now that was spooky.”
“See, told you.”
“Children, girls, cut it out. We have work to do.”
Jessie and Erin both replied sarcastically, “Yes, Mommy.”
Gray concrete walls matched the gray metal door at the entrance. The overhead lights were spaced just far enough apart that there were hard shadows on the floor between each of them. After what Erin estimated to be around one hundred feet, the trio reached another gray metal door, a recessed camera above it. This time, there were no handles or knobs, just a smooth flat door, but there was another RF chip reader on the wall, and the small LED turned from red to green after Jessie placed Jake’s ID next to the reader. The door slid into the wall instead of swinging out or in to open. Beyond the door on the left side was a bland-looking office full of government furniture, some fake plants, and a fake window painted on the wall. To the right were showers that looked sterile and cold, all completed in sealed concrete. They didn’t see any other doors in the office and decided to walk through the shower room to see if there was anything else.
An opening in the concrete snaked around a wall and to another room. This room looked like a smaller version of the supply warehouse in the main facility. As they walked through the facility, the lights flickered on automatically in each area they entered. At each transition to another room, the concrete was raised like a mini-wall about a foot high that they had to step over.
“Think this uses the same power as the main facility? Think this is safe from the rolling blackouts we experience?”
Jessie and Sarah gave noncommittal grunts in return to the questions. Beyond the storeroom was a bleak hallway with hotelesque signs pointing left or right for the bunkroom, dining hall, and common area. Meandering aimlessly and silently, they walked toward the bunkroom first. Appearing to have enough space for about fifty people, the bunkroom was outfitted with the same sort of beds and lockers as theirs was in the main facility. The restroom and showers looked the same, except that there was no obvious delineation for male or female in the bunkroom, restroom, or showers. The dining room was another, and again smaller, copy of the main facility, but the common room was something new. There was a large TV with rows of DVD cases filling shelving along the wall, a pool table that converted into a ping pong table, and a dart board.
Sarah broke the silence first. “Looks like a crappy bar or a low-grade frat house.”
“Except that there’s no bar to be seen. If I had to live here, I’d need a strong drink handy.”
Erin shook her head. “No, don’t you two get it? This is supposed to keep a special group of people alive if the first facility gets compromised. The designers expected the first facility to be vulnerable to something. The walls we had to step over? Probably to trip someone if they’re not paying attention...this was designed as a refuge if there was an outbreak in the main facility. The little walls are to trip the dead, to slow them down so the survivors could kill them.”
“Then why don’t we have those in the main facility?”
“I don’t know, Mom.”
“What if it’s because the zombies were too secret, like above top secret or whatever it is, so secret that even those who worked and lived in a secret underground facility at a secret base weren’t to be trusted with the information?” Jessie said.
“Now that’s damn creepy,” Erin said, looking around the room. “If we’ve found all we can find, then I want to get back to the normal secret-alien-base shit.”
Everyone agreed. They quickly finished checking for any more doors and retraced their steps until they were in the welcoming office with the showers. A small sign above the entrance to the showers stated “DECONTAMINATION,” but they weren’t sure who would be decontaminated from what. The next to last door opened to a dark hallway.
“Were these lights on or off before we stepped into the hall the first time?”
Jessie shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe off?”
Erin rolled her eyes, clicked on the weapon light on her rifle, and stepped into the darkness. The other two followed. The RF pad’s LED wasn’t lit green or red; it appeared to be off. Jessie tapped the ID against it a few times and got no response. Erin pushed on the door and was surprised to find it unsecured. The janitor’s closet was dark, and the hallway seen through the open closet door was dark.
“Now this is spooky, Jessie.” Erin cautiously stepped through the janitor’s closet, Sarah and Jessie following.
“Maybe it’s just a normal blackout, but we answered our own question. Past the camera door, it is on separate power; the hallway through to here is on this facility’s power.”
Everyone nodded in agreement with Jessie, not that they could be seen in the darkness.
From deep inside the main facility, they heard screams and rapid gunfire.
MSOT, Parker, AZ
The town seemed to consist completely of low-roofed strip-center shopping, gas stations, and palm trees. Zeds swarmed the convoy as they rolled through the middle of town, but they were too few to be an issue to the Marines. Soon they were crossing the Colorado River to take a left onto Route 62. The convoy climbed along the highway up the desert mountains, and any trace of civilization seemed to fall away. The convoy poked along at fifty mph in a part of Arizona so remote that it seemed even the wildlife commuted.
The minutes ticked by slowly, the hours following. Aymond checked his watch for the sixth time in as many minutes. Eventually they turned right onto Highway 95 and were pointed north again. In the back, the other Marines were sleeping.
“You going to be good to drive longer?”
“Yeah, Chief, no worries.”
Aymond nodded and leaned against the door, falling asleep quickly.
It took a moment for his mind to snap back into place. “Chief, time to get up.” Gonzo was shaking him.
“What, Gonzo?”
“Chief, we’re in Needles, Arizona. The problem is that this highway jumps on Interstate 40 for a while.”
“Is it overrun or has a herd of Zeds leveled everything?”
“Don’t know yet, we’re closing on it right now, wanted you awake for it.”
Aymond nodded.
As they approached the overpass for I-40, it appeared to be intact. Gonzo drove under it and turned left, following the highway signs. Taking the ramp onto I-40, they saw that the cars on the Interstate were pushed from the center, but the damage wasn’t as intense as they had seen on I-10.
“Same thing, just not as much. Maybe it was a smaller group of Zeds.” Go
nzo shrugged.
“Well, keep on going; we’ll have to figure it out along the way.”
Looking out the small bulletproof window, they could see that the town they were passing teemed with Zeds. Most of them didn’t appear to notice the convoy passing by, but that could change in an instant. Quickly they were past the town and in the desert, and shortly after that Gonzo followed the signs and turned north on Highway 95. If Aymond was remembering correctly, they wouldn’t hit another town until they were just outside of Las Vegas.
Lost Bridge Village, AR
“Bob said to be bringing the parts we got down to the comm’nity build’n before lunch. I’d bring your maps too. I think most everyone is going to be there, and they mean to hear about your travels.”
Oreo followed Mary out of the kitchen and into the garage and then followed her back into the house as she carried the box of parts they had assembled the previous evening. It was their contribution to the radio. In the past day and a half, word had spread outside of the circle of Warren, Andrew, Mary, Bob, and Oreo to include the entire small community. Andrew hoped like hell the radio would work. These people were longing for something, anything positive to give them some hope. Now he regretted bringing up the massive herds of the dead, the destruction left in their wake. Nothing good could come from scaring these nice people with his stories. Looking down, Andrew saw Oreo sit at his feet.
They’re not stories, it’s the truth, guy.
I know, but the truth sucks, buddy.
The new world sucks.
The old world sucked.
OK, but Mary?
She’ll be OK, she’s more OK than you are.
Andrew looked away from Oreo’s stare and at the wall, shaking his head, realizing he had just had a silent discussion with his dog in his mind.
“Warren, that’s great. It will be nice to have some conversation with other people for a change.” Andrew made a sideways glance at Oreo, who started wagging his tail.
Soon they were out the front door, ponytail and pink rifle leading the way, Oreo prancing along beside her, his ears erect and alert. The sun had begun chasing away the cool morning air, resulting in a beautiful day. In a blink, they were in the big multipurpose room, parts that Bob needed, many of which weren’t on the broadcasted list, spread across a handful of folding tables. A few had brought hot Dutch ovens with a bit of a potluck lunch for everyone, and a few held watch by the windows that faced the road. Everyone was armed, and it was obvious that everyone knew one another.
The next few minutes were a bit of a blur, Andrew shaking hands with nearly three dozen men and women. A small group of children sat at a table away from all the frenzy to play a board game. Andrew noticed that all the older kids were also armed with a mix of pistols and small rifles. This wasn’t the first group of survivors he’d met in which he encountered strict security rules, but this was one of the first times he wasn’t so sure that everyone wasn’t like this before the attack.
“How much fuel do you need?”
“Uh...the bladders can hold about fifty gallons, plus my can...fifty-five or so would completely fuel the aircraft, but I’ll be thankful for whatever I might be able to trade for or have.”
“Where are you from?”
“Have you met others?
“Are there any other close survivors?”
“Have you seen Little Rock? Is there anything left?”
“What about the military, seen any?”
The group of men and women swarmed him, questions flying. The whole scene was overwhelming, and Andrew had experienced it before. All the survivors wanted to hear news, good news especially, but anything from the outside was welcomed. Andrew tried to answer, but before he could even start answering a question another question was asked. The group was nearly shouting questions at him by the time Warren stepped into the middle.
“Now all y’all hold on just a minute. Andrew is our guest, and you all should be treat’n him better than this. Why don’t we get the fold’n chairs out. We can all sit while Andrew is nice enough to tell his story and give us any news he can remember. Once he’s done, then maybe your questions will have answers.”
A handful of muffled sorries were heard as the group released its crushing weight from around the pilot, and were replaced by the sounds of metal folding chairs coming out of the storage room and being set up.
Andrew looked around the room a little bewildered before finding Oreo lying at Mary’s feet while she played the board game with the other children, eyes closed but ears up and twitching. You little bastard, what about me? Oreo peeked at Andrew with one eye open before letting it droop closed again. Shaking his head slightly, Andrew walked to the chair Warren offered.
“Thank you, Warren...thank all of you for your kindness. Well, let me start by saying things are both better and worse than you think they are out there.”
Andrew continued his meandering talk for close to an hour, turning the pages of his atlas to show his notes and marks, describing the other survivor groups, the massive herds of the dead, and every detail he could think to talk about. The group remained silent and quite motionless the entire time, all eyes focused on Andrew and his atlas. After Andrew finished, everyone remained silent. He expected a lot of questions, not this uncomfortable silence, which was thankfully interrupted by Bob.
“I think we’re ready to string the wire for the antenna.”
Most everyone stood and went outside to see what Bob was going to do for the antenna. Two wooden electric transmission poles stood about one hundred and fifty feet apart from the main driveway down to the edge of the parking lot. The lines weren’t live; just like all the electrical lines in the U.S. that Andrew had seen, they had no electricity flowing through them. Bob directed two men on ladders leaning against the poles and another who was on a ladder under the middle of the wire between the poles as they hung the smaller cable Bob was using for the antenna. After about thirty minutes the work was done, and a wire snaked across the parking lot into the building. One of the older kids, a young teenager, was already on the bicycle made into a generator and pedaling in a steady rhythm, shifting gears as the rear wheel spun in a blur. The small bank of car batteries connected together had a lone voltmeter wired at the end, the needle slowly climbing off the zero pin. Bob sat down at the table. The radio looked like something in the background of a mad scientist’s lab in a movie, but Bob seemed confident that it wouldn’t shock him and would work.
Once the needle reached the mark Bob had drawn on the dial, the battery bank’s voltage was high enough to power the radio properly. Bob made sure the power switch was off and counted the coils wired on the stand next to the main box, moving alligator clips to the desired spacing. The group all seemed to hold their breath as Bob arranged his pencil, notebook, and the odd-looking device that he called the “key.” Once settled, Bob flipped the switch on the radio.
Nothing happened, and the group stood silent for a moment before starting to grumble, having expected immediate communication to start pouring in, like turning on a car’s FM radio. Bob waved his hand dismissively at the grumbles and tapped the key lightly; the wire strung between the insulated ends of spark plugs from his truck buzzed with a visible spark of electricity popping across the gap. A couple people gasped, and a few laughed.
“That’s why it’s called a spark-gap transmitter, folks. “Bob smiled and began slowly tapping out a message, using a handwritten chart next to him with markings for each letter. Finished with the short message, Bob waited and repeated the transmission with no response.
“Warren, did you bring the shortwave?”
“Ye’sir, like you asked.”
Warren handed Bob the hand-cranked shortwave radio. After cranking the radio for a couple of minutes, Bob turned it on and tuned it to the original transmission frequency from Groom Lake. Only static was heard. Bob tuned the radio up and dow
n the shortwave bands, but there was nothing but static around the frequencies that Groom Lake had been heard on previously.
“Well, they’re a few hours behind us. Maybe they’re not up yet. We can try again this evening.”
“Maybe they’re dead,” an anonymous voice called out from the back of the crowd.
“Maybe they are, but even if they are, maybe there are others like us who made a radio. This radio is a wonderful idea; we’re not going to give up on it yet.”
As the afternoon continued, different children and a few adults took turns on the bicycle to generate power as asked by Bob. Slowly and piece by piece, the crowd left to walk to their homes. By dinner time, the only people who remained were Bob, who continued to transmit and wait patiently, Mary, who napped in the corner with Oreo curled up against her, Warren, and Andrew, who sat quietly, exhausting the topics of conversation of the day.
“Bob, are you going to work into the night, or are you going to actually get some sleep?”
“Andrew, why don’t you take Mary and Warren back up to their house. I’m going to keep at it for a while.”
Andrew nodded, stood up, and stretched, snacking on the remaining potluck lunch, which substituted for dinner. Warren scooped Mary off the floor and held her in one arm, still sleeping, her head on his shoulder, and picked up her rifle with the other hand. Andrew was a little surprised; Warren was stronger than he appeared. Oreo yawned and plodded along next to them as they sauntered up the hill to Warren’s house, slowly racing the setting sun. Both of them knew that Bob would probably stay up all night trying to make contact. They would have to check on him in the morning.
Highway 67, TX
The large MRAP sat idling in the middle of Highway 67 just on the edge of Stephenville, Texas. The start of Amanda’s journey, which should have taken no more than a few hours, had taken the entire day. The sun hung low against the horizon. Large dark clouds approaching in the northern sky glowed purple and green, lightning causing the clouds to flash and glow like lightning bugs in a field. The sky above her was clear, but Amanda was confident that her night would be spent being rocked by the looming storm. The atlas she had open in her lap didn’t have much detail for the city of Stephenville, but, so far, the map hadn’t much detail for any of the towns she had seen roll by her windshield. She had successfully avoided Fort Worth and the surrounding large cities of the DFW Metroplex, but the cost was an entire travel day and being a little lost. Across the field to her right was the end of a runway; a small municipal airport in a small Texas town. The highway, small with only two lanes and shoulders, provided no answer as to what was ahead of her. She knew that another town was near as the yellow sign warned of a reduced speed limit ahead, but she still wasn’t exactly sure where she was and what she could do for the night.
